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Like an overlooked, unmastered B-side for one of those Yellow Pills power pop compilations,Punks On Mars, aka Ryan Howe, pay tribute to an era when free-spirited riffing was as much a mainstay as skinny ties and geometric sunglasses. The differences lie where those power pop bands towards the middle of the '80s preferred glossy production. Punks On Mars' use of production only serve to thicken their sound, melding voices, drums and pogo-guitar licks into a candy-coated, pop picnic

It's not hard to get tangled up in the Name Game while listening toDirty Beaches. Alex Zhang Hungtai's schizo romantic crooning alter ego is chillwave-ugly in name and greaser-gorgeous in execution, as defined by its many references as it is by its creeping allure. "Sweet 17" mines a few crucial touch points--Suicide's desiccated punk wailing, the existentialism of David Lynch's ominousLost Highway,Duane Eddy's rollicking echo rock-- to create something that slashes ligaments and hits the bone. In this moment of relentless, unchecked nostalgia, the 1950s have remained a curiously under-romanticized era, with a torrent of mystery and unmined cool ready to be pillaged. Hungtai,clearly an admirer of the decade, has a blood-red baritone that explodes into shrieks here, revealing some alien hybrid ofElvis Presleyand Jerry Lee Lewis. Dirty Beaches' forthcomingBadlandsalbum splits its time between corroded dream-pop and this sort of menacing road music. Brace yourself for the pomade revolution. (PITCHFORK)